A Please and Thank You
by Colors Beyond the Spectrum
Summary: It all starts with a night of unusual behaviors, leaving both John and Sherlock to figure out their true intentions. Slash. John/Sherlock  Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock... obviously.
1. Chapter 1

John was woken by a clatter and the sound of something heavy dropping from Sherlock's room.

He stuck his head out of his bedroom door and shouted, "Sherlock, what the bloody hell just happened? Everything alright?"

There was no response, so John left his room and descended the stairs tiredly. He paused outside of Sherlock's room. It occurred to him that the only times he had been in Sherlock's room was when he had set something on fire, or had some other experiment-related mishap.

"Are you okay? I heard a crash," John said, leaning against the door.

"I need help picking up some glass... and maybe some stitches," Sherlock replied.

John entered the room swiftly and surveyed the mess. The was a large, broken beaker on the floor, and some sort of green oozing out of it. Sherlock's hand had been cut, nothing too deep, but it would need to be mended by John. John left the room to get the broom and bin in the kitchen, and stopped in the living room to get his first aid kit. After living with Sherlock for nearly a year now- he had learned that he must always be prepared to tend to whatever injury the brilliant detective might get due to an experiment or rough case.

"What were you doing at 3 in the morning with a beaker full of some strange green liquid that is now starting to fizzle?" The doctor asked his injured flat mate.

"I was testing the effects of hydrochloric acid on spinal fluid, and the beaker just broke in my hand," He replied in a frustrated tone, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

The army doctor sighed as he swept the shards of glass up and put them in the bin. He placed the broom against the wall, and focused his attention on Sherlock's hand. As he took the detective's hand, he couldn't help but notice the sudden flutter in his heart. He blushed, and looked away quickly, and began to clean the wound. Sherlock hissed when the disinfectant hit his cut, and John quickly wrapped it in gauze and medical tape.

"Try not to use that hand too much for a day or so. If that's all, I'm going back to bed. Try not to set the flat on fire, and please get some sleep," John said sleepily, leaving the room.

As he was approached the door frame, the lanky detective muttered a small, "Thank you," and then returned to his work.

Walking down the hall, the doctor realised how odd it was for Sherlock to thank him. Not that he was unappreciative, but the world's only consulting detective was not one for "Please's" and "Thank you's." He also mentally slapped himself for overreacting when he took Sherlock's hand. What was that? He had never been nervous and fluttery around Sherlock before... and Sherlock had never been that polite to him like that... He shook the thought from his head. They were both just sleep deprived. That's it, sleep deprived. He thought nothing of it until the following morning.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock.**

**Summary: After an odd interaction the night before, the next day takes an unexpected turn.**

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><p>Smells of bacon and toast greeted John as he walked down the hall to the kitchen. Sherlock cooking breakfast? No, must be Mrs. Hudson. It must be, bless her heart. He picked up the newspaper off the coffee table, and walked into the kitchen.<p>

"Good morning, John." The tall detective greeted his flat mate, putting down a plate of bacon and eggs, toast and jam, and a cup of tea for John, and then putting down a plate and mug for himself.

John looked at Sherlock suspiciously. Was he ill?

"Well, this is... unexpected," said John.

"What? I can't make breakfast for us?" Sherlock retorted, as if nothing about the gesture was abnormal.

"It's just not like you, that's all, but thank you," He replied.

"Your welcome," Sherlock replied softly.

_Okay, what the hell is going on? This is not him. Oh god, is something wrong? Was it something to do with last night? _

John remembered the sensation he felt last night when he merely touched Sherlock's hand.

_No... I'm not in lov- like. I'm not in 'like' with my _male_ flat mate. I'm not in 'like' with Sherlock Holmes. And he certainly does not feel that way about me. _

_Married to his work. But what if? He's asexual and you're straight. End of discussion. _

"You okay?" Sherlock asked, more concerned than usual.

"Yeah, I'm- I'm fine. This is very good," He replied, still suspicious of Sherlock's actions, but tried to dismiss the thoughts from his head.

They ate in a semi-awkward silence; the detective looked out the window, as if deep in thought, whilst his strong, attractive flat mate read the paper.

_Attractive? Now where did that come from. I admire John and his courage, but in a friendly way. Married to my work. Yes, I see no need for relationships. A futile attempt to make one feel needed. Absolutely useless. After John's reaction last night, though. The obvious redness in his cheeks and increased heart rate... No, he's not interested and I don't care if he's interested. I don't want him to be interested. He's straight, he's only been with women and has only ever wanted to be with women. There is nothing else to think of it. _

"Any new cases?" John asked, putting his plate in the sink.

Sherlock got up from his seat and paced a bit, apparently from boredom. He moved from the middle of the room to the doorway.

"No, actually. It's going to be rather a dull day, I suppose. I've always always hated Tuesdays," He replied, leaning against the door frame.

"It's actually Wednesday," The doctor replied with a chuckle.

_He's so cute when he makes mistakes like that... _

The doctor caught himself.

_Wait, no, not cute. I don't find him cute. I'm not... I can't be... and not him. Oh, just shut up brain. _

"Dually noted," Sherlock responded, absent-mindedly.

"I'm going to the store, need anything in particular?" Asked John, leaving the room to put on his coat.

"Rosin," The detective replied, walking over to the coach, plopping down.

"I'm pretty sure they don't sell rosin at a grocery store..." John replied.

"Pity," His flat mate replied sarcastically.

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><p>With a chuckle, John put on his jacket and left the flat. The fresh air was good for his head. It helped clear his thoughts. Just as long, hot showers helped others think, John needed cool, fresh air. The mundane simplicity of grocery shopping didn't bother John as it did Sherlock. Doing simple tasks gave John more time to think.<p>

_Oh, the mystery that is Sherlock Holmes. The world's only consulting detective and one of the most confusing people I've ever met. One day he's married to his work, uninterested, and his usual Sherlock-y self. The next, he's gracious and nice... Still married to his work, though? Of course he is. He's never been interested before, and he isn't now. Maybe he's just in a 'good mood'. But when he's happy is when he's on a case, focused and exercising his intellect. You're overreacting and over thinking; over analyzing every action like a hopelessly in love teenager. And you're not in love- or 'like'- with Sherlock, or anyone. _

_The way he smiles when he's just cracked a case; how he combs his hand through his fair when he's frustrated. The way his coat billows behind him as he runs and jumps over rooftops, in the graceful manner that Sherlock does without even trying. He takes my breath away, he makes my heart flutter. God, am I infatuated with my male flat mate? With Sherlock Holmes? _

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><p>As he approached 221b with two bags full of groceries, he shifted the bags in his arms to open the outside door. As he walked up the stairs, Sherlock opened the door and took one of the bags from John.<p>

_More helpfulness... _

"You didn't need to help, I could have managed," The doctor told his friend

"No, no, it's no trouble," He replied.

They set the groceries down on the counter and John began to put them away, as Sherlock returned to his violin and began to play a soft sonata.

John returned to the living room, picked up a book, and pretended to read. He listened to the sweet music produced by such a mad, brilliant man. He saw the way the detective's eyes seemed relaxed and focused, his face seemed to glow, and how his fingers moved with a delicate brilliance that was so very Sherlock Holmes. His usual mannerisms seemed to translate to the violin quite excellently, and he could play very well when he wanted to. He looked up from his violin and smiled oddly at John. The army doctor went back to pretending to read, blushing furiously, and the consulting detective went back to concentrating on his music, closing his eyes, relaxed, and deeply involved in the music.

"I'm going to make tea, want some?" John asked his flat mate, getting off of his chair and walking into the kitchen.

He filled the kettle and put it on the stove. Sherlock got off the couch silently and quickly, leaving his violin on the coffee table. He was behind John before he could even realize that the music had stooped.

"No, no let me," Sherlock half whispered, touching John's hand which was placed on the kettle.

John turned and faced Sherlock, Sherlock's hand still on his. They were abnormally close together, but it was not uncomfortable in any way, and Sherlock leaned down to close the space between them.

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><p><strong>I know these two chapters have been short, but I promise that the next chapter will be longer. <strong>

**Thanks for all of the favorites, alerts and reviews, you guys are awesome. **


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary: After much confusion, things seem to work themselves out. **

**Disclaimer: Not even in my wildest dreams do I own Sherlock. **

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><p><em>John's point of view<em>

I could feel him standing behind me, his hand on mine. I turned around, and he was standing millimeters from me. My heart was pounding in my chest, and I couldn't help but want to kiss him. All I wanted, in that moment, was to completely surprise him and kiss him like he had never been kissed before, but he beat me to it.

I would have thought that kissing Sherlock would be rough and messy, but it was surprisingly soft and delicate. Sherlock snaked his arm around my waist, pulling me closer. I put my hand on the nape of his neck, making circles with my index finger. He pulled away from me and rested his forehead against mine, his blue-gray-green eyes piercing mine, looking past the surface and plunging into my soul.

The kettle whistled, and he kissed the tip of my nose, then reached to turn off the stove.

"Tea?" He asked softly, with a smile.

"Sure," I replied, stepping back and sitting on the table.

He made my tea as I like it, a dash of milk and two spoonfuls of sugar, and put it down on the counter as he made his own. He turned around, a mug in each hand, handed mine to me, and sat down beside me on the table.

Sherlock broke the silence first.

"John, please know that I care about you, but I don't really want to rush things..."

"You don't want a relationship?" I asked, disappointed.

"No, no. What I mean is, I just want to take things slow between us. I don't want to screw things up," He replied, looking into my eyes.

"Whatever you want, I would never want to rush you or make you uncomfortable, and I certainly want this to last," I said, relieved, putting my hand on his leg, not in a sexual way, but to show I understand.

"Thank you," The detective replied, kissing my forehead.

"Want to go for a walk in the park?" I asked, wanting to get out of the flat.

It was only mid-afternoon at that point, and I figured a walk would be good. I wanted to feel the warmth of the Sun on my face and the presence of the world's only consulting detective by my side. Instead of answering, he walked to the coat rack and grabbed his long trench coat and scarf. I followed swiftly behind him, grabbing my jacket and putting it on as we descended the stairs together.

We walked in the direction of Regents Park, standing beside each other, a comfortable silence between us. It's nice to have someone that you can walk in silence with without it being awkward. Having someone that you don't need to talk to, because you just _know_ and they _know_, and it's one of the best feelings in the world. Like you're complete.

Wow, so much for 'taking things slow'. We kissed for the first time moments ago, and I already think I'm complete. Even though I only accepted the fact that I lov- like- that I very much like- Sherlock Holmes today, I've _known_ for a long time, and I've felt this for a long time. Now it all just seems official and real.

As we entered the park, he took my hand and grazed his long thumb lightly over mine. I squeezed his hand, not wanting to ever let go. Sure, we got a few rude glances, but honestly I didn't care, and neither did Sherlock. Sherlock's never been one to care about the opinion of others, anyway.

"When did you first know?" He asked me, as we strolled past joggers, happy couples, and the occasional tourist.

He didn't need to explain what he meant, but I wasn't entirely sure. It had been a whisper in my mind that eventually became a scream, which became this. I thought back to all of adventures, and how I had felt then. The one that really stood out to me was our confrontation with Moriarty at the pool.

"When we were at the pool with Moriarty, and you were aiming the gun at the explosives. In that moment, my biggest concern was that you wouldn't live, or that I would live and you wouldn't. It was then that I realised that I didn't want to live without you," I said, looking into those beautiful eyes.

He stopped walking, and just stared into my eyes.

"When I was standing with the pill in my hand, the cabbie with his pill, my thought was that if I was wrong it would be okay, because I knew you would come. I knew I could rely on you to save the day. Since then, I have never doubted that I trust you completely with my life," He half whispered.

I stood on my toes and placed a gentle kiss on his lips. I pulled away, just looking in those eyes, trying to figure out what was going on behind them. I can hardly imagine what goes on his brilliant mind. Then I remembered we were in public, so I took his hand once again and pulled him towards the Inner Circle.

"What do you want for dinner?" I asked him.

"Well, I was wondering if you fancied going to Angelo's. I was thinking it could be sort of a first date, if that's okay with you," He replied, unusually nervous.

Was he really concerned that I would say no? He really can be so oblivious sometimes.

"The great Sherlock Holmes asking me out?" I replied in a joking tone.

He blushed slightly.

"Of course I want to, don't be daft," I said, squeezing his hand.

We wandered around the park for an hour or so, sometimes talking and laughing, other times just enjoying each others company in a comfortable, peaceful silence, holding hands the whole time. I felt as if I was seeing a different, more vulnerable and adorable side of Sherlock, and I felt lucky that I was one of the few that get to see it. Hell, I may be the only one that knows that side of him.

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><p>By the time we left the park, it was only early evening, and neither of us were hungry, so we returned to 221b.<p>

I took off my coat, picked up a book off the coffee table, and plopped down on the sofa. Sherlock followed me, putting his head on my lap and laying down, not really having to adjust his legs much to fit. After a while, I realised that Sherlock had fallen asleep. I chuckled quietly to myself, looking down at the sleeping detective. An abnormal peacefulness was sketched on his angular features. I swept a curl away from his face, resisting the urge to kiss him.

His eyelids fluttered open suddenly, and he looked up at me. In one swift movement, he was on his feet, getting his coat, and then holding mine out to me.

"Ready to go?" He asked.

I grabbed my coat from him and followed out the door.

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><p>Going to Angelo's for out first date seemed very sentimental. When we arrived, Angelo promised Sherlock, yet again, that everything was free for him and his date. Only this time, I didn't correct him. I actually grinned slightly when he said I was Sherlock's date.<p>

Sherlock stared at me from across the table.

"I never thought I would be sitting here with you as my date. I remember when Angelo said I was your date when we first came here together, and now I am," I said.

"Odd how things change," He replied, not taking his gaze from mine.

We ordered our food and a bottle of red wine. I knew that Sherlock doesn't like how alcohol affects his brain, but I ordered it anyway.

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><p>We returned to Baker street at around 9, I slightly tipsy and Sherlock in a good mood, but not visibly drunk in any way.<p>

"Tea?" I asked.

He nodded affirmatively.

I came back into the living room a few minutes later with two mugs of tea. I placed them on the coffee table, and picked up the remote for the telly. Before I could sit down, though, Sherlock had wrapped a long arm around my waist and pulled me into his lap. Sherlock took the remote out of my hand and turned on Doctor Who.

I grabbed my tea off the table, and leaned back against his thin figure.

"This is how I want to spend my evenings, just this right now. This is perfect," I said, relaxing against him.

"You know, I don't want to go to bed alone..." He whispered in my ear.

"Mmmmm and neither do I," I replied, turning around to face him.

Then his face went serious.

"But please know that by this I don't mean sex," He said.

"Yes, yes, I know," I said, placing a kiss gently on his lips.

I would never rush him to do anything, and at the moment I was just content with cuddling and being with him.

He turned off the telly and I got off his lap and walked to his room, the detective right behind me. I let him open the door, and he pushed some boxes aside, clearing a path to the bed.

His walls were cluttered with newspaper clippings and pictures of various body parts, with a large picture of a skeleton on the right wall. There were boxes and boxes of old case files; old violin bows and strings could be seen in various places in the room. He had a large dresser pressed up against the left wall, and a bookcase with large volumes against the wall opposite the door. It was so very Sherlock, and when I had first been in there I had been surprised, but then I realised that the room of the brilliantly mad Sherlock Holmes could only look like that.

I lay next to him on the bed, my head on his chest, his fingers raking through my hair. That's how we fell asleep: Fully clothed, limbs tangled together, my head on his chest. It was blissful.

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><p><strong>There's probably only going to be a few more chapters, and possibly an epilogue. I'm not pleased with how this turned out, I feel like it's lacking something. <strong>

**Once again, thank you for all of the favorites, alerts, and reviews. **


	4. Chapter 4

**Sorry for updating so late, but I saw Harry Potter at midnight and then went on vacation, so I had no time to update. I've also been having trouble with ideas for new chapters. **

**Summary: Tiva-Jisbonxxx said they wanted to Lestrade or Mycroft's reaction to their relationship, so this chapter is Lestrade's reaction.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock. **

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><p>At around 12 pm, Sherlock's phone rang. The detective and his doctor groaned in unison, and John grabbed the phone off the bedside table.<p>

"Hello?" He asked tiredly, into the phone.

"John?" The man on the other line asked.

"Mmmhmm," He replied.

"It's Lestrade, we need you and Sherlock down here in an hour. We've got a case for you," Lestrade said.

"'Kay, we'll be there," John replied, hanging up.

John turned to face Sherlock. He moved closer to him, and placed a kiss on his nose. Sherlock's eyes opened, staring into John's. "Good morning," John said, smiling.

Sherlock returned the smile, "Morning."

"Lestrade called, we have to be at Scotland Yard in an hour. They have a case," The good doctor said, snuggling in closer to Sherlock.

"We should probably get up, then," He replied, stroking John's hair.

"I don't want to," John said, nuzzling his face into Sherlock's neck.

Sherlock sighed, "I'm afraid we have to, come on then."

He stood up, pulling the shorter man up so that he was kneeling on the bed. Bending down, the detective put his forehead against John's, then kissing him lightly. John got out of bed, and went made them tea. They drank their tea quickly, and dressed in a hurry.

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><p>"This better be good," Sherlock said to Lestrade as they walked into his office.<p>

"It's a bit of a funny one. Three murders, all victims were women in their early twenties. Hung in the rafters from three different warehouses. Time of deaths are only hours apart," Lestrade explained, laying out pictures of each crime scene.

"Do these women have anything in common?" Sherlock asked, inspecting each photograph.

"They all worked at the same supermarket as cashiers, but they didn't know each other. They all worked different shifts," Lestrade said.

"Well, it's obvious then," The consulting detective said, putting down the photographs.

"What's obvious?" Lestrade asked.

"Look at each woman. Look at their shoes!" Sherlock said, clearly annoyed.

"They're all wearing heels," John commented.

"Exactly! And why where heels if they're working all day, on their feet, at a supermarket?" Sherlock looked at the other two men in the room, waiting for one of them to answer.

"Because they were going to see someone after work! And from the color of the soil on the bottom of their shoes, I imagine they all went to the same apartment building- and they all showed up minutes after the previous one. Basically, he invited these women over, each one thinking it was a date, and killed them. We're looking for a man that works at the supermarket at the same time as all of these women," Sherlock said after no one answered.

"Brilliant!" John remarked. Sherlock gave him the usual 'Yes, I know I'm clever, but please stop doing that' look.

"If that's all, we'll be leaving then," Sherlock said, heading towards the door.

"Yeah, I'll call you when we find the guy," Lestrade called, as Sherlock and John left his office.

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><p>At the entrance to the building, John seized Sherlock by his sleeve and pulled him down for a kiss."What was that for?" Sherlock asked lightly.<p>

"You're cute when you're clever," John replied, kissing him again.

They heard the clacking of loafers on the wood floor approaching them, and turned around. Lestrade was a few feet away from them, holding John's cellphone in his hand, looking rather embarrassed.

"Umm... Sorry... I was just going to return this to you, John," The DI mumbled, handing the cell phone to John, and then turning to leave.

"Oh, don't look so surprised, anyone could have told by our body language that we're together. Are you really that unobservant?" Sherlock asked.

"We're not all geniuses, Sherlock. But congratulations, I suppose. Good day," He replied, walking away.

Sherlock turned back to John and took his hand.

"Lunch?" He asked.

"Sure," John replied, pulling Sherlock towards the road to catch a cab. The detective bent down and kissed John passionately, John's right arm hailing the cab, and his left on Sherlock's chest.

"And what was that for?" John asked, smiling.

"Because I love you."

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><p><strong>I think this ending was kind of cheesy, let me know what you think. <strong>**I also apologize for the shortness of the chapters, I myself like fics with long chapters, but I'm never able to think of anything over 1,000 words. ****I might do Mycroft's reaction next or later on. I was also thinking about adding some Mystrade, so let me know what you think about that as well. I have writer's block, so any suggestions are welcome. It may take a while for the next update due to writer's block, but I assure you it will be within a week. **


	5. Chapter 5

**This chapter's short and a bit of a filler. Sorry it's been taking me so long to update.**

**Disclaimer: Sherlock is not mine. **

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><p>To Sherlock, John is the most amazing man in the world. He's surprisingly complex; he's one of the only people that Sherlock sometimes has a hard timing predicting. Like right then, for that moment, Sherlock expected John to return a simple "I love you," but instead he was suddenly reciting poetry to him. He was reciting "A Dream Within a Dream," and even though it isn't about love, and wouldn't normally been seen as a declaration of love, it was to Sherlock. How John knew that Sherlock loves that poem, and how he knew what it meant to him was unknown. To Sherlock, that is love.<p>

When John got to the second stanza, he began to slow down, as if there was a ritardando etched into the lines that were floating through his head. The last line was slow, a long pause between each word, and punctuated at the end by a long, passionate kiss.

"How did you know that I love that poem?" Sherlock asked after they pulled away.

They had long forgotten about hailing a cab, and both of Sherlock's arms were now wrapped around John.

"In your sleep, you mumble it, and in your sleep your recite it as if it were the sweetest declaration of love," John replied, looking into Sherlock's eyes.

Sherlock's eyes were normally a stormy gray, but at that moment the storm seemed to be subsiding, and bright blue and green skies seem to seep through. John pushed a stray curl from Sherlock's face and studied his expression. Love struck wasn't exactly a good way to describe it, and frankly a very immature way to describe it. The best way to describe it is "John-I-love-you-more-than-words-can-express."

To Sherlock, John was perfect. His imperfections made him human, and it made him John, which made him perfect. Sherlock loved how John looked at him like he was the world's biggest mystery, like he was mad and impractical, but he was all John wanted. They looked at each other and exchanged silent words and declarations. Silent promises and the gray-blue-green slate on warm, dark blue.

They looked away and realized they were in public and had been standing at the edge of the sidewalk for quite sometime, wrapped each other's arms. They stepped back, and walked towards a near-by cafe.

"John?"

"Yes?"

"Can I hold your hand?"

"Always."

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><p><strong>I apologize for the cheesiness of this chapter. <strong>**I think there will be a chapter or two until the end.**** I'm not sure if I'll do Mystrade. Right now, I'm going to say no, but that could change. **

****Thank you, as always, for the favorites, alerts, and reviews.****


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